


Killer Style

by sophisticus



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 00:57:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12097206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophisticus/pseuds/sophisticus
Summary: They're at the Winter Palace to stop an assassination, but that doesn't mean they can't look fabulous while they do it.





	Killer Style

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt Day 5 of Cullavellan week 2017 - Formal Night  
> http://cullavellanheaven.tumblr.com/post/164067262368/cullavellan-week-2017

The weeks leading up to the peace meetings in Halamshiral had been full of etiquette lessons from Josephine, Leliana, and Vivienne, as well as measurements for dress fitting from the latter, but nothing any of them said could’ve truly prepared Delilah for the Winter Palace.

The palace was grand indeed, one of the most extravagant constructions in all of Orlais, according to Josephine. Even Delilah had to admit the architecture and the gardens were beautiful. Completely Orlesian, of course, and naturally decadent to a fault, but beautiful. The Orlesians in attendance, however, were less so.

She’d barely made it to the main entrance before being called a savage, a knife ear, and most infuriatingly, _rabbit._ She’d very nearly told the woman begging for the ‘rabbit’s’ help finding her ring, that perhaps she could find the ring up her ass. But Josephine’s voice in her mind reminded her they needed the court’s approval, so she’d given a tight smile and moved on.

As she moved through the crowd, she earned several looks from the nobility, ranging from curiosity and amusement, to outright disdain. Thankfully, none of them mistook her for a servant, but that was likely only due to the flowing, swishy, shimmering emerald green dress that Vivienne had commissioned for her just for this event. The golden bangles on her wrists jingled as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and continued on. Vivienne’s lessons echoed in her ears – back straight, head high, core tight. The Orlesians parted in front of her, and she stepped forward with purpose.

She made small talk with various nobles that Leliana and Josephine had pointed out would be beneficial to chat up. She kept the same bland smile on her face, even as ladies with obnoxiously frilly dresses and men with obnoxiously frilly jackets and pants tittered at the thin lines of vallaslin on her forehead and cheeks, tracing over her shoulders and arms and down her back, revealed by the open backed sleeveless gown.

The introductions to Grand Duchess Florienne and Empress Celene went fine, and soon the guests were free to stroll through the main ballroom, the vestibule, the hall of heroes, and the garden. Delilah picked up a tiny pastry from a passing servant with a word of thanks, and munched thoughtfully as she explored. As she moved, she turned a watchful eye to the guests she came across. The Tevinter assassin could be anybody, anywhere, and she had to be prepared. Even if, with her easily visible vallaslin and pointed ears and stunning dalish-inspired gown, she was really just a distraction while her companions searched for clues more subtly. The dress was as much a weapon here as any blade, Leliana had told her when she’d expressed distaste at its original reveal. And they’d done their best with its design to reference her cultural background as a compromise, with the lines of the dress as well as the delicate vines stitched into the hem and around the bust.

A familiar voice reached her ears, and the crowd parted in time for her to spot Cullen, leaning against the wall and looking deeply uncomfortable at the crowd he seemed to have drawn.

“Smile, Commander, you’re so handsome when you smile,” one woman was saying, her voice low and sultry.

“Just as handsome when he doesn’t,” another woman replied, fanning herself with a jeweled fan.

“Are you married yet, Commander?” a gentleman probed, swirling a glass of wine. Even this far back, Delilah could see Cullen’s neck reddening above the collar of his finely tailored coat that Josephine had insisted he wear.

“Uh, no,” he replied stiffly. “But I am…already taken.”

The ladies and gentlemen surrounding him tittered. The first man smirked below his golden mask. “Still single, then?”

Delilah decided at this point to step in, and Cullen’s relief at the sight of her was nearly palpable. “Del – uh, Inquisitor,” he corrected himself. “Did you need something?”

“Might I have a moment of your time?” she asked, with a polite nod to the nosy people now peering at her.

“Of course. Excuse me,” Cullen said to them, and they all sighed with disappointment as the two moved to a more private corner, away from prying ears. “Thank the Maker you showed up when you did.”

“You seem to have attracted some admirers,” she remarked. “Who are they all?”

“I don’t know, but they won’t leave me alone,” he griped.

Delilah stroked a fingertip down the fine silk of his sleeve. It was a deep green, nearly black, matched with a sash of the same green as her own gown, and golden buttons. “Perhaps because you look so dashing in this suit, like a proper prince,” she said with a smile. “Not enjoying the attention?”

Cullen harrumphed, but a blush bloomed over his cheeks at her praise regardless. “I still think ceremonial armor would’ve been perfectly appropriate, even knowing Orlesians’ love for extravagant outfits,” he groused. “Besides, yours is the only attention worth having.” Delilah chuckled.

“Would you really rather see me in armor than this dress?” She did a slow turn, and his gaze dropped to her bare skin, lingering over the curves of her waist and hips. “Even you have to admit, dressed like this, we make a wonderful pair.”

Cullen caught her hand in his and lifted it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. Beneath the Orlesian cosmetics that Vivienne had somehow convinced her to wear around her eyes and across her lips, a blush bloomed across her cheeks. “You certainly outshine every other person here, dress or no,” he murmured.

A giggle escaped her, despite herself. “You flatter me,” she said with a smile. “Remember, we’re here to catch an assassin, not to flirt.”

“Ah, yes. You’re right. Forgive me.” Despite the gentle reprimand, his eyes still glinted with mischief as she squeezed his hand that still clasped hers, and disappeared back into the milling nobility.


End file.
